The Sound and the Fury
by chardreams
Summary: And as she glared at him fiercely, Athrun understood what she did not, and did not have to say.


**Title**: The Sound and the Fury

**Author**:Chardreams

**Disclaimer**: Story is mine. GS/GSD is not.

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><p>It is a tale<br>Told by an idiot, full of sound and fury,  
>Signifying nothing.<p>

_- Macbeth, Act V, Scene V_

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><p>For the first time he had ever attended one of these black-tie functions, Athrun was alone.<p>

It was exactly one month, eight days and fifteen hours since Kira destroyed Messiah. PLANT and Orb had just finalised the first of the peace treaties. The world was slowly, but surely, recovering. It called for a celebration of some sorts.

As a newly-minted Admiral of Orb, Athrun was of course, invited. It was what was expected, seeing that he was second-in-command host country's military.

What he did not expect was to be sidelined. Conversations between Orb council members turned deferential - polite but fake - when he tried to join. PLANT dignitaries hesitated to take his outstretched hand. ZAFT and Orb soldiers alike avoided meeting his gaze, stilting the conversation with awkward silence. Even the people of Terminal whom he had fought together with in the second war laughed a little too loudly at his jokes.

Athrun soon gave up. He grabbed himself a glass of champagne, leaned against the wall and tried to radiate an air of studied nonchalance.

'_This is new_' he thought contemplatively as couples twirled pass him, lost in the rhythm of the music.

While never the life of the party, he had always been well-received. Before the wars, he had been introduced as Councilman Zala's son. That easily won him 'friends' at such functions, who were more than happy to discuss anything from economy to music. He had danced with Lacus occasionally at these balls, much to the approval of the older coordinators, who commented on his footwork, Lacus' grace and their general compatibility.

The one 'formal' function he attended on his graduation from the ZAFT academy was replete with beer, back-slapping, laughter and not-so-friendly competition comprising of who could get the most dances out of the few female soldiers.

After the first war while attending various functions as Cagalli's bodyguard, he had always been able to slip into easy conversation with fellow bodyguards as well as Orb soldiers who were curious about life working directly under their beloved Head Representative.

And now, at the first public function after he had reclaimed his true name, the public was avoiding him. Though it was not all that unexpected he supposed…

'Dance with me.' A voice that invited no argument startled him out of his reverie.

He found himself looking momentarily at flashing amber eyes before she turned, grabbed his arm and marched him to the dance floor.

The music started. A slow sarabande. She stepped into his arms. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw reporters clicking their cameras with sudden intensity.

She kept her eyes glued to her heels.

'One, Twoooo, Threeee, One…' he heard her mutter under her breath. He studied her silently as he steered her around the ballroom. As far as he knew (for he had been observing her discreetly even though it was strictly-speaking, no longer his duty to do so), she had been engaged in serious-looking discussions all evening. This was her first dance tonight.

This was her first ever dance with him.

'Cagalli?'

'Athrun' she snapped, glinting eyes meeting his bemused green ones 'Can't you see I'm a little busy here? Do you want me to step on your toes? You know I can't dance well so don't distract me!'

'_She's angry_,' he concluded as she determinedly resumed counting, '_but not at me._'

He tried again. 'Cagalli. Look at me.'

'Athrun, I told you. Your toes…'

'You can step on them.'

That got her attention. She looked up and he could see the barely concealed indignation behind her molten-gold eyes.

'Representative Athha. Would you mind explaining why you forcibly drag your second-in-command into a dance when you have many more important dignitaries to talk to and dance with tonight?'

'To show those no good _bastards_ that my second-in-command deserves some respect!'

He winced (partly because she had just trodden _very_ hard on his large toe). 'Language, Representative. You're in public.'

She ignored his homily and bristled fiercely 'I mean. So what if you are Patrick Zala's son? So what if you defected from ZAFT twice? So what if you were on the Minerva? The point is that you're in Orb now. You fought for peace. You fought for a free world. So you're a bit of a renegade and loose cannon. So what? You would think that they would admire you for having a working brain in your skull rather than being a puppet. Honestly, they dare question your actions when they went and blindly followed that overly-charismatic chairman and those _idiot_ Seirans. If my council members or those PLANT dignitaries have anybody to blame, it's me!_ I_ was the one who signed that bloody treaty! It was under _my _command that Djibril escaped! Not you! And those soldiers! They have the _gall_ to treat you like this when…'

If it had not been wholly inappropriate, he would have laughed out loud. This was just…_so Cagalli._

He cut her off. 'And this dance?'

She looked momentarily stunned at having been caught mid-rant but quickly regained her composure.

'To show Orb that they have nothing to fear. To show Terminal that Athrun Zala would not betray her ideas. To show the world that Orb's Commander-in-Chief _trusts_ him.'

And as she glared at him fiercely, Athrun understood what she did not, and did not have to say:

'_No matter what the world may think, I believe in you_.'

He felt a sudden warmth engulfing his being. Her capacity for forgiveness and her fierce desire to protect was overwhelming. He was just about to try and convey his gratitude when she lowered her head suddenly and added, almost inaudibly:

'Besides, you think too much when you are alone.'

The music ended. He did not have time to recover from his momentary lost of words before she slithered out his arms, and curtsied.

'Thank you for the dance Admiral Zala. As you so kindly reminded me, I have other people whom I should speak with tonight. If you encounter any other problems, please let me know. Now if you would excuse me…'

-X-

It was midnight. Most of the guests had already left. Technically, Athrun had no reason to seek her out. He had encountered no more 'problems' after the dance.

Terminal soldiers introduced him to their friends. Orb soldiers thanked him profusely for destroying Requiem and thus, protecting Orb. ZAFT soldiers listened with grudging admiration to a recount of his exploits and asked for tips. He acquiesced graciously to the occasional requests to dance. While impossible to describe his handshakes and conversations with PLANT dignitaries and Orb Council members as warm, it was no longer filled with suspicion that characterised their earlier interactions.

Technically, no one was avoiding him anymore. But still…

He walked resolutely towards Cagalli as she shook hands with the last straggler and wished him a pleasant stay in Orb.

He tapped her on the shoulder. 'Representative?'

She turned and before she had time to register who it was, found herself engulfed in a hug.

'Thank you.'

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><p><strong>Notes<strong>: I think I have taken Macbeth out of context. But I plea literary licence.

There are many reasons I wrote this fic:

Because I believe that Cagalli is mature enough to know that there are better ways to solve things than through the barrel of a gun and bold enough to carry out a public demonstration.

Because Athrun broods too much.

And of course, because I love AxC.

This is my first fic, and hopefully not the last. Reviews would be very encouraging and constructive criticisms highly appreciated!


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